


A Collar Does Not Make A Slave

by thatgirlwhodraws



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Sex, M/M, Manipulation, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-04
Updated: 2013-06-04
Packaged: 2017-12-14 00:08:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/830419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatgirlwhodraws/pseuds/thatgirlwhodraws
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Run if you want."</p><p>Athelstan didn't run.  Maybe he should have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Collar Does Not Make A Slave

**Author's Note:**

  * For [azryal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/azryal/gifts).



Rough fingers lifting his chin. Cold knife barely touching him, enough to make him flinch and fear for his life. Then the rope came loose. 

 

"Run if you want." 

 

Athelstan drew in a shuddering breath.  He could see how Ragnar was looking at him.  Fear coiled and mixed with want in his belly. _Shameful._ He'd never wanted a man the way he wanted when Ragnar looked at him like that.  As Ragnar turned to leave, he knew that he would lose his life if he left without him.

 

_But what will I lose should I follow him home?_

 

A small part of him wanted so badly to find out.  As Ragnar disappeared around the corner of a building, he felt himself stand and begin to follow.

 

_I am going to burn._

 

A thread of panic hit him when he did not see Ragnar right away.  He half-trotted along the dirt road that Ragnar must have gone down, the one they had taken to get here.  Where was he?

 

A rough, calloused hand closed on his throat, soft. More binding than any collar he would wear.  Athelstan could only let himself be pulled back off the road, under a tree, barely a few feet off the main road.  He swallowed against the hand on his throat, barely resisted the urge to scream as Ragnar pushed him to his knees. He could only watch, breathless with fear and anticipation as Ragnar unlaced his breeches where he stood over him. His cock hung heavy with blood. _Beautiful_ , a filthy part of his mind whispered.  

 

They were not far from prying eyes -- he could still see torches, hear voices in the distance, even as he knelt in the dirt.  "Please," Athelstan begged, his voice breaking with the last of his resolve. "Do not make me--" 

 

"I cannot _make_ you do anything, Priest." Ragnar spoke softly. He was amused.  But with a strong hand curling on the nape of his neck, pressing just slightly, Athelstan found himself drawn forward.  The tip of Ragnar's cock in his open mouth. He tasted like salt and sin.  

 

 _You like it,_ Athelstan's traitorous mind whispered, and he almost shook his head. His eyes slid shut.  He breathed as deeply as he could manage through his nose.  On his inhale, Ragnar slid his cock in as far as Athelstan could take him.  He almost choked, but instead tried to pull back, stopping only when Ragnar squeezed on the back of his neck. The command need not be spoken.

 

"Breathe." Ragnar ordered quietly.  Athelstan could only comply. Could only whimper, gulping in breath through his nose. "Open up," He continued. His hips moved slow, fingers twisting tight in Ragnar's hair.  Ragnar did not need a collar to own him.  That much was clear.

 

Athelstan didn't know how he managed it.  How long he knelt there, trembling with effort, barely breathing as Ragnar spoke softly and held his hair. " _Open_ ," He said again, not for the second or third time, and something loosened in the space of his throat and he swallowed instead of gagging, taking Ragnar to the hilt, until the curls at the base of his thick length brushed Athelstan's nose.

 

He felt lightheaded, like the first time he had fasted for the sake of prayer.  _I want to worship him._   The thought came unbidden, and Athelstan could only swallow again and take him.  Ragnar was moving now. He was mercifully slow, careful not to move too fast lest he gag again.  The salt of Ragnar's skin was more intoxicating than any wine, any of the ale Ragnar had fed to him.  For a moment he forgot his faith, his need to serve god.  He would happily sit there on his knees if only Ragnar would fill his throat, his mouth so sweetly with the hot flesh of his cock and give Athelstan a reason to _be_.

 

The moment was broken when Ragnar pulled his cock from his mouth with a soft curse, making Athelstan cough and pant harshly.  He found himself leaning forwards without meaning to, his tongue darting out to catch a drop of precome that had gathered on Ragnar's skin.  Ragnar cursed again, held him tight and did not allow him to move, until Athelstan flushed at the shame of what he'd done.  _You liked it_. 

 

"You have a sweet mouth, Priest." Ragnar praised, breathing slow to draw himself back from the brink. "But I would spill my seed elsewhere." He glanced down, and his eyes went dark. The toe of his boot nudged between Athelstan's legs, tracing the curve of his aching manhood.  Athelstan gasped at the feel of it, the rough-sewn cloth of his robes scraping against his length.  He had not realized how deeply he had sinned, enjoyed suckling at his master.

 

"You are aching for me," Ragnar said, his head cocked, expression filled with a soft wonder. "Just from the taste of me? From being on your knees…" he trailed off, his thumb brushing the swell of Athelstan's lower lip.  " _Good_."  The promise in his tone, int he praise, made Athelstan flush with a strange pride.  The shame washed away in that moment -- just for a moment, and Athelstan bowed his head and nearly whispered his thanks.  Then Ragnar moved him again, forced him to his hands and knees.

 

The cold air made him shiver, the soil beneath his hands just as cold, but dry.  He couldn't help but choke when Ragnar rucked up his robes, pushed them high up his back, his thin breeches tugged down until they pooled around his knees.  Athelstan's teeth chattered together from the cold, from a hint of fear.  

 

Something cold and wet dribbled between the curves of his backside, making him gasp and try to twitch away. _Oil_ , his mind provided, his face going hot as he felt a warm, calloused finger brush through the path the oil made and rub circles over his hole.

 

"D-Don't--" He could not.  It would hurt.  _You might like it._   If he liked it, it would burn him.  He would never be able to make up for his sin. " _Please_ , don't--" The cry of protest caught in his throat when the tip of Ragnar's finger probed in. 

 

"Open up," Ragnar said again, calm as could be, his warm breath caressing the back of Athelstan's thighs, making him shiver. "Open up your hole for me."  There was a filthiness in his tone now that made Athelstan's cock ache.  Unbidden, he felt himself go loose, felt the finger slide in slow in a way that made him arch and clench down.  "Shh, priest. _Open_. Open for me." He urged, and Athelstan tried not to, tried to keep himself from listening -- but the slick slide of that finger felt _strange_ , and _wrong_ , but good somehow.  

 

" _Uhn--_ ah…" Athelstan became aware that he was making… _sounds,_ wet little moans and grunts that spoke only to pleasure.  When a second finger followed the first, he whined high in his throat, his hips jerking in an unconscious twitch. One hand kept his hip still, while the other pressed him open, a sweet burn making him clench and release.  He wanted to tell himself that he was trying to push Ragnar's fingers out -- but the sweet slide only pushed deeper, slow, but relentless. When Ragnar pulled out his fingers, he could feel his body open, gaping in the cold night air.  The feeling was making his thighs shake.

 

"Just a bit more." Ragnar promised, sliding back in with three, the sting worse now, but there was something in the slide of it that was making Athelstan rock back against him.   He couldn't control his body.  It had rebelled against him, like the Devil himself had wrapped itself around his body, bewitching it to the feel of Ragnar's fingers inside him.  

 

"S-stop-- ** _AH_** _!_ " Ragnar's fingers _curled_ within him as he tried to protest, and all thoughts of escaping fled his head for a moment.  His arms gave out, his cheek pressing into the dirt, hips raised high like a bitch in heat.  Whatever Ragnar had done had sent a throb of pleasure inside him, like a line straight to his cock.  When Ragnar's fingers pulled out afterwards, he whimpered, his hips rocking back to try and follow them.  His body was open again, gaping, and he heard Ragnar make a low noise of approval, thumb brushing the open rim of his entrance before it clenched shut again.

 

 _I am going to burn,_ Athelstan thought.  He could hear slick sounds behind him, more oil, though Ragnar was smoothing it over the length of his cock this time. The blunt tip pressed against him, hard and huge.  He had seen Ragnar, felt him in his mouth, even watched with plenty of guilt as the hugeness of it  speared Lagertha open and made her moan.  But feeling it against him made him whine, try to lean forward and escape.  He tasted dirt in his mouth from how he was panting. 

 

"Mmhm." Ragnar hummed out a little half-moan, the warmth of Athelstan's body already beckoning him.  "Open up your hole, Athelstan." He felt hands on his thighs -- and he was spreading his legs before he could stop himself. "I know you can do it." Ragnar soothed, pressing against him with the barest amount of pressure, slowly sliding forward.

 

_Too big--_

 

"It's too big, it's too big-- I _can't_ \-- ah-- _uhn_ \--" Athelstan choked, his body shaking all over.  But the slide of Ragnar's cock was relentless, slow, but never letting up. 

 

"It's almost in, Athelstan." Ragnar whispered, lips brushing his ear.  Athelstan shook, choked out a low whine. Held his breath.  Then the head slipped in, filling him up, bigger than the slide of fingers had been.  He gasped in a sharp breath of air. "Fuck, _yes_." Ragnar growled.  He stayed there like that, letting Athelstan clamp down on him. "See?" He puffed out a laugh against Athelstan's skin.  "The hard part is over." And then Ragnar started to push in further.

 

" _No more--_ " Athelstan gasped out.  God, he was huge, but his body was just…accepting him. Opening up.  Drawing his master in deeper.  His _master._ By the time Ragnar's balls brushed against him, his massive thighs pressed up against his ass, he couldn't breathe again.  He was full. _Owned_. Anyone who saw them now would not need to see a collar to know that Athelstan belonged to this man.

 

Then he began to move.  It was like Ragnar could move the heavens, with that first thrust, pulling out slow and then fucking in deep.

 

Slow as he had been before, he showed no mercy now.  Athelstan could not recognize his own voice.  The sounds that came out of him were dirty, moaning and gasping, little grunts that no longer held any semblance of protest. The place Ragnar's fingers had teased earlier lit up with pleasure, the end of each thrust striking him there, shaking him to the bone. Athelstan almost lost himself in the sensation of it -- until Ragnar pulled out, sudden. Leaving him gaping again.

 

_Empty._

 

"D-Don't--" He choked, whimpering as he felt Ragnar press a thumb into him.  It wasn't enough. Didn't reach deep. Didn't spread him wide, like the stretch of Ragnar's cock had.  He heard Ragnar hum behind him, contemplative.

 

"Don't what, priest? Should I stop?" He began to pull back then.  Athelstan felt himself seized by a panic. _No._

 

"D-Don't…" His voice was wrecked. Scratchy and hoarse from moans, from Ragnar's cock opening up the space of his throat to make room for him. "Don't stop," Athelstan pleaded, weakly.  He was truly gone then. Begging for Ragnar to take him when he should be taking his offer to stop.

 

"What was that?" Ragnar's thumb teasing him again. Rubbing the rim of his hole, slick with oil, warmed by their movements.  Athelstan choked on a sob.

 

"Don't stop!" Athelstan choked, nearly shouting. "Put it -- put it _in me_ \--" 

 

"My cock," Ragnar breathed against his ear.  Athelstan did not know the word, not in their tongue. "My cock. You want me to put it in you."

 

"Y-Your _cock_ \--"  _Filthy, you're a filthy whore, Athelstan._ "Put your cock in me, _please_ , Ragnar--" 

 

His breath was stolen from him when Ragnar slid into him again with one vicious thrust.  His pace was more brutal than before, every buck of his hips stealing Athelstan's breath away, until he felt light headed, his mouth open with his cries.  A hand in his hair kept his head down in the dirt, but he didn't care.  He spread his legs wider for the thrust of his Master's hips, taking his cock like he was born for it, like he had been born to serve Ragnar instead of serving god.

 

_Maybe you are--_

 

Athelstan could not think.  Could barely breathe.  Something was rising inside of him, pleasure, the assault of Ragnar's cock on that place inside.  The feel of it scared and excited him -- he wanted to see it, see whatever it was Ragnar was building him towards.  He felt Ragnar's teeth sink into his shoulder and screamed as he came.

 

In that moment, he would have sworn he saw the face of God.  His first orgasm, torn from him.  When he came down, Ragnar was still moving, drawing his pleasure out, shaking him with the movement of his hips.  Then he stilled inside of him, and he _felt_ Ragnar's cock twitch within him, the warm slide of his come as he filled him with thick ropes of it.  He stayed there, pinning him down, his cock huge inside him.  He felt stained with how deeply Ragnar had released inside of him.  He belonged to this man, collar or not.

 

Ragnar pulled out slow, leaving Athelstan whining softly, his hips twitching, cock spent and sticky against his thigh.  He drew in a sharp breath when a droplet of come leaked out of him -- but Ragnar caught it with the bluntness of his thumb, pushed it back inside.  Athelstan breathed in sharply.  Ragnar liked him stained too, it seemed.

 

He made him stay that way until his insides clenched up again to keep the fluid inside, then helped him tug up his breeches, pulled down the thick cloth of his robe.  Though there was little pain -- he was too numb to feel it, too numb with the rush of endorphins that had not yet left him -- he still limped, the strange emptiness making him walk with some awkwardness.

 

Ragnar treated him no differently when they returned home.  He washed, while Athelstan was too ashamed to take the basin himself.  Though it was absurd, he swore he could still feel Ragnar's come deep inside him.  When he lay in his bed, in the darkness, he probed with a finger between his legs, inside of himself,  promising himself silently that it was only to pull Ragnar's seed from inside him. But his cock roused at the first touch, his hole still slippery with oil -- and when he felt some of Ragnar's seed leak out, he shuddered.

 

_I am going to burn._

 

The stretch of two fingers, three, was still not enough to cure him of the ache inside that only the hugeness of Ragnar's cock had soothed.  With Ragnar pressed up inside him, he had felt no loneliness, for the first time in a long time. Perhaps even before he had entered the monastery.

 

He took little care for the sound he made, for how the slide of his fingers made slick little noises, how his breathing picked up.  With his back to Ragnar and Lagertha, he would not know how they watched him, how their hands glided over one another's bodies as he fucked himself open with searching fingers.  His orgasm almost took him by surprise -- a choked breath muffled into his arm as three of his own fingers curled up inside of him, only a ghost of the pleasure that Ragnar had given him.

 

Athelstan couldn't say if he was surprised when Ragnar followed him to the river when he went to bathe, the next morning.  He still voiced protests -- up until Ragnar was inside of him.

 

He was owned. Throughly.

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of a prompt/request by azryal00 on tumblr.


End file.
